More Than Just a Girl
by Tempestt
Summary: Self-concious and powerless, the last person Buffy Summers needs to run into is Spike. Will he make her his third Slayer or will he help her to understand that she is more than just a girl?
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS. However, I wouldn't mind chaining Spike up in _my _basement.

Much thanks to Obscurebookwyrm for her tireless efforts to edit my horrid grammar.

Spoilers: Rewrite of _Helpless_

**More Than Just a Girl**

Chapter One

Buffy had never been more terrified. Not even during her funeral march to the Master's lair, dressed in her best virginal whites. Somewhere in the back of her mind there had been an arrogant teenage voice egging her on, saying, 'prophesy smophesy'. She was a strong, powerful force of nature to be reckoned with. She was the Chosen One, and no bat-faced, wanna-be Dracula was going to take her down. 'Cept that voice had been dead wrong. Hah. Get it?

Now, she was just a girl. There was no power, no strength-just the force of her own crippling weakness. She ran down the rain-slick sidewalk, the late January night biting though her denim jacket, icy air streaming into her freezing lungs. The recent rain made the world seem wrung out and soggy instead of fresh and new. It was no virgin bride; it was a syphilitic whore.

She hazarded a glance behind her as she ran. She couldn't hear any sounds of pursuit, but vampires could be as silent as a snowflake settling on an apocalypse-ruined world. Vamps were swift, strong, and silent. Everything she wasn't.

She collided hard with a solid wall, rebounding and landing square on her ass with a pained gasp. Her gaze traveled up, taking in black Doc Martens, black jeans, black leather, and amazingly crisp blue eyes.

_Crap!_

_Death comes to us all_, a morbid voice rang in the back of her head. Good to know her cheerleading squad was back, even if it was less with the cheer and more with the fear. Spike was absolutely the worst person to run into while powerless. He was going to drink her down and laugh while doing it.

She scrambled to her feet and Spike, being the Victorian gentlemen he was, helped her with a hand under her elbow. Then he threw her a dozen feet into a darkened alley between a Chinese food restaurant and a tattoo parlor. She skidded across the oily pavement, tearing up the palms of her hands. The alley stank of rotten food and urine. Buffy didn't have time to process the full yuck factor of whatever sticky pool she'd landed in because she was being hauled up by a fistful of her hair.

Her scalp burned, her eyes prickling with tears. The strong tug had her face angled upwards, making it hard to search the alley for weapons. She had one small hand wrapped around Spike's wrist while she desperately swept out her other one in a blind search for anything she could use against him. She fumbled with the lid of an aluminum trashcan, getting a good grip before swinging it around to pummel her attacker with the rounded edge.

The lid bounced off his skull, the impact vibrating all the way up her arm, but she was pretty sure the blow barely fazed the master vampire. The response of tossing her into the brick wall was just a spot of fun to him.

She hit the wall and pain exploded in her temple. Her knees buckled, but through sheer force of will and the helpful wall at her back, she remained standing. She lifted the trashcan lid, gladiator style, rapidly blinking the blood out of her eyes so she could reconcile the three Spikes standing at the mouth of the alley into one.

He was still, his head cocked inquisitively to the side. He didn't blink, his predatory gaze pinning her where she stood.

"You feelin' alright, Slayer?"

_Double crap._ _Must not let the Slayer of Slayers know you're powerless. _Time to brazen it out.

"Just letting you build up your confidence. You were pretty _crushed_ the last time we fought. I read in _Cosmo_ that in order to have healthy male-female relationships, it's sometimes necessary for your man to feel powerful. Even when he's _not._"

He hollowed his cheeks, his lips pursing into a leer. He glided his hand down his chest, hooking his thumb in his belt.

"Is that what you want, Slayer? A male-female relationship?"

_What-oh!_ Ease up on the innuendo, girlfriend! Great, she was channeling her inner Faith.

She scoffed, waving her hand. "You'd have to be a man and we both know you're just a thing."

"Oh, I'm a man alright. Let me show you," he purred as he stalked towards her.

She tried to step back, but the previously supportive and friendly wall blocked her way like a total asshat. She held out her hand, trying for nonchalance when panic was galloping through every nerve ending in her body.

"Look, Spike. I don't have time for you right now. I've got places to be, important people to see." She tried to infuse her words with as much haughty venom as she could, but she was pretty sure he heard the quaver in her voice because he didn't react right away. He paused, staring at her with unsettling blue eyes that made her feel like he was scrying all her secrets.

"So, if you don't mind. I'll be going now." She slid along the wall, intending to slip on by, but he shifted subtly, blocking her exit.

The disaster warning system flaring in her brain got upgraded from _double crap_ to _dammit!_ She had a feeling she was about to be Spike's third slayer.

In desperation she flung the light aluminum lid at him, but it just bounced off his chest and fell flat on the ground with a loud clatter. They watched as it rocked itself to a standstill on the pavement. Slowly, he looked back up at her, a large predatory grin darkening his face.

"Well, this is just…neat," he purred and her thumping heart fell into her stomach.

Just then the two vamps that were chasing her galloped around the corner. Dumbasses must have gotten lost or distracted by something shiny. They stumbled to a stop behind Spike, uncertain of what to do now that their prey had been cornered by a master.

Buffy knew she wouldn't be able to brazen her way out of the situation. No way was she going to be able to fight her way out. Maybe she could try the truth? Capitalize on Spike's sense of fairness and their previous truce. Maybe his conscience? Yeah, right. And any second a flying pig was going to swoop in and carry her away.

Spike stalked towards her, the tails of his leather duster swishing from side to side as his Big Bad strut she hated became more pronounced. She panicked. That strut usually heralded bad, bad things for her.

She waved her hands in front of her, sliding away along the wall. "I'm weak," she blurted out. "Just little girl Buffy. The Slayer has stepped out."

He kept coming and her heart did a double tap. "You don't want to take a bite out of me, do yah, Spike? It'd hardly be sporting. I'm all weak kitten Buffy and you're all big and bad and…" Hey, she wasn't above a little ego stroke. Life and death circumstances and all. She was certain she could come up with more, but she wasn't given the chance.

Spike struck her hard across the mouth with the back of his hand. He hit her like she was just a 'girl' and he was a bad man. For the first time, Buffy registered that her situation was a lot worse than she initially thought. Completely against her will, she collapsed at his feet. Her shaking hand covered her jaw as she looked up at him with big, watery eyes, feeling a deep, shocking sense of betrayal.

Her eyes were hot, but she refused to cry. She might not have the physical strength to fight him, but she would never show him weakness.

He towered over her, and at the dark edges of his coat she could see the eager faces of the two fledges crowding behind him.

"You're right, Sla-" He paused, considering her. "Buffy."

She gasped. He'd stripped her of her title and it hurt. Of all the mean-spirited barbs, the snarking exchanges in the past, this was likely the worst thing he had ever said to her. The Slayer was what she was; without it she was nothing. She was just a woman at the mercy of a man. She was normal.

"I don't beat on little girls."

The tension leaked out of her, and her shoulders curled as some of the fear that stiffened her body lessened. He smirked down at her, hooking his thumbs in his belt loops. He rocked back on his heels and the motion had her looking back at him. There was something cold behind his cocky smirk, and she knew he already saw her as nothing more than a corpse.

"These guys, though." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Not so finicky."

"You wouldn't," she breathed.

His lips thinned, and he just shrugged. Afraid and desperate she scrambled for any crumb.

"I thought you wanted to be the one to kill the Slayer?"

Suddenly, the thought of Spike sinking his fangs into her wasn't as unappealing as it used to be. Especially if her choices were being drained by him or ripped apart by a couple of fledges. In the back of her mind, behind the same locked door that scoffed prophesy smophesy, she always thought it would be Spike who did her in. That's why she always feared him so much. Why she always kept him at a distance.

"You're not the Slayer anymore. Are you, luv?" he said softly. Her heart constricted in her chest. It _was_ as she always feared. If she wasn't the Slayer, then she was nothing. Just a worthless girl. Not good enough to be dinner for a master vampire. Barely good enough for fledges. Buffy the girl was unremarkable, unexceptional, and unworthy of even a sideways glance from such amazing beings as Spike and Angel.

They wanted her only for her specialness, not for who she was underneath.

Angel placed her on a pedestal as Heaven's Chosen One. She had a purpose, a meaning. Through her he would find salvation, but only if she was the Slayer. Without her abilities she was no different that the hundreds of unremarkable girls he could have with a single crook of his finger.

Spike's only interest in her was in killing another Slayer to enhance his reputation. She doubted she was even good enough to be his dinner. She knew he had a type. He liked his women tall, dark, and beautiful, not blonde and disgustingly perky. He would never want her for her.

Spike stepped aside, revealing her crumbled and broken figure to the salivating fledges behind him. Panicked beyond pride, she grasped the corner of his duster.

"Please."

He looked down at her impassively. "Please, what?"

She stared up at him. A few days ago, if asked if she would ever beg for her life, she would have scoffed. The Chosen One did not beg. Buffy the girl wasn't above it. What she needed was an edge, something that would appeal to Spike.

Tasting her blood was an epic fail, but she hadn't fallen so far that she would offer her body. She rather thought he expected it. There was something about the way he held himself. As if he was waiting for her to make the final fall from grace so he could pounce on her weakness and laugh at her total degradation before walking away.

Besides, if there was one thing she knew about Spike it was that he would never be unfaithful. He was utterly devoted to Drusilla. She of the crazy, of the pixies, fairies, and dancing stars. She of the ethereal beauty; always in need of her black knight's protection. Helpless, but deadly and utterly feminine, she was everything Buffy wasn't.

Buffy eyed Spike speculatively. Angel had told her of Spike's dirty little secret. Who he'd been before his turning. A Victorian gentlemen at his core, he'd been molded from birth, both in his human and vampiric lives, to be a champion for femininity. He was a dark knight, fighting for his princess. Buffy knew she could never compare to his wicked, rotten-to-the-core plum, but just maybe she could appeal to the protective instincts deeply ingrained in him.

"Please…help me?"

Her conviction teetered out at the end. It galled her to ask for help-to beg protection from anyone, especially her mortal enemy. Spike's lips quirked, and she hoped the flare of irritation she felt didn't show on her face.

"Umm, dunno, pet. That didn't sound all that sincere to me. You sure you wanna ask me for help?"

She swallowed around the lump in her throat. What she needed to do was swallow her pride. "Help me." She was proud her voice sounded strong, conciliatory without a hint of begging.

He rested his hand on the brick wall behind her and leaned down. He cocked his head to the side, and Buffy couldn't get over how cold his eyes looked. He was usually so full of fire. This was the first time she had ever seen him and thought he looked as dead as he was.

His icy eyes raked over her before meeting her gaze. "And what will you give me, Buffy? If I save you?"

Her hot blood froze in her veins and something nasty curled up and died in the pit of her stomach. Was he suggesting what she thought he was? What about Drusilla? Did his fidelity to his black goddess not extend to humans? It made a certain amount of sense. Vampires did like to play with their food. It didn't matter either way. She wasn't willing to do that. Was she? Was she willing to spread her legs to save her life? She dropped her eyes and looked away, deeply ashamed. He chuckled, but it wasn't the rich laugh she was used to hearing. It was as cold and dead as his eyes.

"I don't help the helpless, little girl," he murmured so softly she almost didn't hear. Then he was gone, leaping up the wall behind her, and disappearing over the lip of the roof.

The fledges were on her before the sound of his boot-heels scraping over the bricks died away. She clamped her lips together, promising herself she wouldn't scream.

Spike could hear the struggle behind him-the sounds of hard fists striking a soft body. The gasping grunts of pain and the growls of anticipation. The Slayer-no, not the Slayer. Buffy-a tiny slip of a girl with a ridiculous name. The fact that she was being eaten up was a bit of all right. Just some hungry fledges drinking their evening meal. Nothing wrong with that. When it was over a new Chosen would rise, and maybe Spike would be lucky enough to take her down.

He was smiling at the thought when he heard a sound that made his stomach fall out of his arsehole-the rending of fabric, followed by the delicate tinkling of buttons on pavement.

"Spike."

The single word held registers of emotion that, as a vampire, he was hard-pressed to comprehend. Fear, anger, and pain, he understood. The deep undertones of sadness and betrayal he couldn't fathom.

He turned back to take in the tableau below him. The fledges had Buffy splayed out on the pavement, one holding her wrists above her head while the other tried to work the material of her jean skirt up over her hips. Her pale pink blouse was shredded, and her bra ripped away. There were repulsive red streaks across her small, young breasts.

She was fighting with all the strength of her small, frail, powerless body, but the fledges just laughed. He could smell the salt stink of her tears, and her small cries sliced at the hardened shell he had constructed over the years to protect himself from his useless human emotions.

Feeding the girl to fledges was a spot of fun; letting her be raped was not. Rape never sat well with him, but he was hardened enough to ignore it. He had spent many decades walking away from bad things. Buffy being raped wasn't one of them.

His actions weren't completely justified to himself even as he was leaping over the lip of the roof and landing cat-like twenty feet below. In the same smooth action, he was plunging a stake through the back of the vampire holding Buffy's hands above her head. The second fledge recoiled, releasing the girl as he scrambled backwards. Years of honing her instincts had Buffy rolling away from the battle towards the nearest wall. Being on the ground made her feel vulnerable, so she stumbled to her feet, using the wall to steady herself. She turned back to the alley just as Spike dusted the second vampire.

The stale air of the alley shifted. Before she could blink, Spike caged her against the wall. He had one hand planted by her head, the other flattened near her ribs. He leaned closer, panting cold, unnecessary breaths against her cheek. His eyes were flat, but there was a wildness beneath the icy veneer. A spark of an internal war she had no insight into.

She caught her breath, trying to be as still as possible lest she incite him to violence. He had saved her from the fledges he'd fed her to, but by no means was she safe. He could turn on her at any moment, rending her apart or worse. She stared into his glittering blue eyes, hypnotized by his gaze. She couldn't look away. She couldn't move. She could barely breathe.

He leaned forward and her lips parted. Not in invitation. In shock. Fear. Uncertainty. Still staring intensely into her eyes, his tongue flicked between his lips and slicked over a small cut at the corner of her mouth. At the taste of her blood, his pupils blew wide open until there was only the thinnest band of blue.

Her paralysis broke and her skull knocked hollowly on the bricks behind her. Undaunted, he followed, his tongue cool against the burning heat of her wound. The tip of his tongue slipped between her lips at the very corner of her mouth, just tracing the edge of her eyetooth. He tasted of blood and whiskey. Of deep, naughty, wicked sin.

The sensation wasn't that of a kiss. It was quieter. Less intrusive, yet far more intimate. Shivers wracked her body and she expelled her breath in a shaky rush. He inhaled, taking her breath into his lungs.

He leaned back and she felt a sick combination of relief and loss. His hands slid away from the wall, but he was still overwhelmingly inside her space, tripping all her internal sensors that screamed she was in danger. Her muscles tensed as he gently smoothed his hands down her arms in a light caress that made the small hairs on her body stand on end. He lifted her hands like she was a lady and he was her lover, her palms curved over the edges of his. The endlessly deep abyss of his eyes never broke from hers as his mouth traveled from her lips to her hands, caressing her knuckles, abraded by her powerless punches with kisses that were far from gentlemanly. His tongue swirled over the delicate knobs of her bones and slicked between her fingers to tickle the sensitive webs of flesh.

Gently, he turned her hands over, tending the fleshiest parts of her palms where they were deeply scraped from being thrown onto the pavement. He lapped at the drying blood, before sucking the supple flesh between his lips. She could feel the edge of his teeth, and she stirred, but the strength of his gaze held her. It was the most intimate moment of her life, and ironically the most dangerous. At any moment he could turn from genteel lover to voracious killer.

He dropped to his knees with a suddenness that had Buffy recoiling. The connection of their eyes was broken and she felt something snap free inside her. His cool fingers eased behind the curve of her leg, applying slight pressure to the bend her knee. She resisted.

"I won't do-_it_," she whispered. She wouldn't spread her thighs. She wouldn't let herself fall, even if she did owe him her life. "You'd have to force me."

Spike didn't respond. He only wrapped more of his hand around her calf, lifting her foot until it settled on his thigh. She pressed her shaking hands to the bricks at her back, looking for something solid and real to ground her in a moment of unreality. She watched, her full lower lip caught in her teeth, as he leaned forward to swipe his tongue over the hot, scraped skin on her knee. His cool tongue soothed all the pain away, making her breath hitch. She expected his hands to wander higher, but they remained chastely anchored on her calf and ankle. When he was done, he carefully settled her foot on the ground and pulled the other to his thigh. She acquiesced easily. She was confused, but cautious. As long as he wasn't hurting her, she was willing to let him do as he pleased.

He rose to his feet with breathless grace, leaning forward to cage her once again. This time she refused to be sucked into the whirlpool of his eyes and focused on his mouth instead. He leaned forward as if to lave the cut on her lip, but she turned aside, her gaze falling on the trash heaped in the alley. He growled a soft, low warning, but she refused to be baited, and reaffixed her gaze on the pavement.

He gathered up her hair at the nape of her neck, holding her still in the crook of his arm. Her wide eyes sought his, her mouth forming words of protest that died as he leaned forward. With wide, sure laps, he licked the blood on her forehead from the cut on her temple. She snapped her eyes closed, feeling the cold wetness of his tongue on her skin. He lapped around her eye, cleaning the blood that was starting to glue her lashes together. Lastly, he laved her wound, soothing the raw ache. He withdrew, and she finally breathed.

He banded his fingers around her delicate wrist and she gasped at the sheer power of his touch. He could crush her, pillage her, murder her, and there was nothing she could do to stop him.

"C'mon, little girl. The Big Bad will get you home," he said, tugging her away from the wall. Her breasts bounced, reminding her that her shirt was undone. Her cheeks heated as she realized he'd had an uninhibited view the entire time he cleaned her wounds. She hurriedly gathered the edges of her shirt in one fisted hand to cover herself. He turned away, seemingly unaffected.

"Really?" The last thing she expected was a ride from a remorseless killer.

He didn't answer. He just towed her along behind him, and she was helpless to stop him.

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS

Many thanks to ObscureBookWyrm for her editing skills.

For those of you who are following Remember When I plan to have the next installment up by this time next week. Happy Reading!

Spoliers: _Helpless_

**More Than Just a Girl**

Chapter Two

They drove in silence, their wet clothes and the heater he cranked too high making the cab humid and sticky. She huddled against the door, shooting flickering little glances at him from the corner of her eye. He was stoic, his full mouth set in a resigned scowl, his eyes never wavering from the road. A single hand tightly gripped the steering wheel, and she could see his silver rings making divots in his flesh and the white bones of his knuckles through the skin.

She swallowed and scrunched down in her seat so she could see through a tiny chip in the black paint smearing the window. She watched the waterlogged world whirl by in a palette of chalky grays and slick black.

They pulled into her driveway and she slipped out of the car without saying a word. She didn't know what to say. A 'thank you' seemed gratuitous after what he'd put her through, and a 'get bent' might get _her_ bent in all kinds of wrong ways. She raced towards the porch, frantically trying to remember if a disinvite spell for Spike had ever been done on her house.

She came up short when she noticed a Polaroid taped to her door. She edged closer, gasping when she realized it was a photo of her mother, tied up and looking terrified. She tore it off the door, glancing at the back to find a hastily written address. Without a second thought she raced down the steps, waving at Spike frantically.

"Wait! Wait!"

Spike stopped his car halfway down the drive, and she quickly came around to the driver side, knocking on the window. He rolled it down, a look of complete annoyance on his face.

"You have to help me," she gasped out.

His black brows snapped together, and she resisted the urge to step back. "Did that, and I'm already regrettin' it. I told you, I don't help the helpless."

"Not me. My mother!" She thrust the Polaroid at him. "He'll kill her. I'm not strong enough to do it by myself. Please, Spike. Please!"

His eyes flickered to the photo, then back to her. His upper lip lifted into a sneer, and her hand fell limply to her side at his silent rejection. The sounds of her rasping breaths were harsh in her ear as she watched him with sinking expectations. He didn't look at her as he popped a cigarette into his mouth, lighting it with lazy nonchalance. He flicked his wrist and his Zippo snapped closed. The sound was gun-shot loud in the silence.

"What's in it for me?" He exhaled a stream of smoke towards her. Her brow creased, and she fidgeted awkwardly at the question.

"Don't you like my mom? She gave you hot chocolate and listened to your sob story. Now she's in danger. Please, Spike." She could barely spit the word out in the alleyway; now 'please' was falling from her lips like rain from the sky. No amount of pride was worth her mother's life.

"Not my problem. I don't give a rat's arse if your mum lives or dies. Sure, she's a nice lady and all, but it's not like we're bridge partners."

Buffy felt like sobbing. Every second they wasted was another second her mother could be killed. She knew she couldn't take on Kralik alone. Once Giles found out who the Council was setting her up against, he had immediately called the entire thing off, telling her everything. The vampire was a psychotic serial killer before being turned. The demon inside him was ten times worse. He was old and strong. And she was just a girl.

She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. She didn't care if she looked like a crazy person in front of Spike. She couldn't take the chance of losing in a fight with the murderous maniac. She wasn't willing to risk her mother's life like that. She took a deep breath, roughly brushing the tears from her cheeks with her palms.

She hardened herself, looking Spike straight in the eyes. "I'll do it," she told him coldly.

"Do wot?" he returned silkily, his bad boy accent deepening. He knew damned well what, but he wanted to hear her say it. He wanted to see her pride break-to see the angel take the last fall from grace.

"It," she hissed between pale, tight lips.

He cocked a brow and waited.

"If you help me, I'll have sex with you. _Pig!"_ She couldn't resist the insult or stomping her foot like an angry toddler. What sort of man asked sex from a woman when she needed his help? _Right. _Evil, soulless vampire. Not a man.

His condescending grin spread slowly across his handsome features. She didn't think she had ever seen something so wicked in her life.

"Well, then, Princess. Hop on in."

She glanced at her house, then back at him. "Wait. Let me get some stuff." She turned to leave, before whipping back around. "Don't leave," she ordered. He just continued to leer at her.

She raced into the house, shedding her clothes along the upstairs hallway as she went. She pulled on a shirt and overalls with a plethora of hidden pockets, stuffing them full of stakes, holy water and crosses. She grabbed her bag and raced back downstairs. In all, it took no more than two minutes. She didn't let out a breath until she saw Spike still parked in her driveway.

She slung her bag onto the floorboards and hopped in beside him. She pulled out the Polaroid, giving him the address where her mother was being held.

A few minutes later they were parked outside a rickety building that looked like a stiff breeze would blow it down. The windows were bricked up, and she could only see one entrance from where they sat.

"What's the plan?"

She didn't answer him right away. She stared at the house, nibbling her lower lip, her fists curled in her lap.

"Time's a-wastin', princess."

Slowly, she turned towards him, the long muscles in her body taut. She tried to project slayeresque strength, but knew she probably came off as weak and kitten-y. She shook it off and firmed her mouth.

"I want to make sure we are clear on the deal."

"Yeah, we're clear, Buffy." She scowled. He easily saw through her failed attempt at strength and reveled in rubbing her nose in it. "I help you, you fuck me."

It was all she could do to contain her rage behind her burning throat and clenched teeth. She tightened her fists until she could feel her nails digging into the fleshy parts of her palms. Once she was sure she had her anger under control, she swallowed hard before speaking.

"Right. But we both know there's a good chance I'm not going to walk out of there."

"Giving up so soon?"

She frowned at him. He almost sounded…disappointed? "No. Just being realistic. All I want is for you to agree to get my mom out even if I'm not around after to live up to my end of the bargain."

Spike lazed back in his seat, his eyes predatory. He looked utterly relaxed, but Buffy could sense the coiled tension in his sleek muscles. When she looked at him, all she could see was the killer inside.

"Doesn't sound like I'm getting my fair share out of the deal. Maybe we should fuck now, so I know I'll get my payment."

"Spike!" she snarled, exasperated. "We don't have time for that. My mom could be dying-."

He lunged. Her tirade was cut off in a startled gasp as she was pinned between his rock-hard body and the heavy door. Strong fingers wrapped around her hip and yanked her down into a slouch, widening her thighs so he could fit his body between them. She slammed her palms against his chest, but it was like trying to move stone.

His lips crashed down on hers with punishing force. Her tender flesh abraded on her teeth. She opened her mouth to scream, but it only gave his tongue entrance. She tried to clench her jaw, but the fist curled tightly in her hair warned her against it. Only when black dots started to form behind her eyes from lack of oxygen did he relent.

She gulped in air, distantly wondering why he was panting against her cheek like he had run a marathon. He reared back to look down at her. His eyes were black with only the thinnest band of blue at the edges. The sight of him wild and lustful made something distinctly naughty twirl in her lower belly. No one had ever looked at her with such ill-concealed want. Not even Angel. Especially not Angel, who worshiped at the altar of self-control.

His hand tightened in her hair, and the subtle pull against her scalp was oddly pleasurable. "Always time for this, kitten."

She shook her head. "Please, Spike. It's my mom. You must have had a mom once," she pleaded. Something flickered behind his dark eyes. Her breath almost stuttered to a stop when he gently rubbed the pad of his thumb over her swollen lower lip.

"Later, then. Gonna take my time with you." He slid his hand down until his fingers were encircling her slender neck. "Gonna make it last all night long. Gonna make you beg for it." Slowly, he crawled off her body, indiscreetly tugging at the crotch of his jeans.

Wide-eyed, she sat up to watch him. She shook herself out of her stupor and gathered up her bag, pausing with her hand on the door handle. "If I don't make it out, can I rely on you to get her home without any fang marks in her?"

His look was dark and intense. "You better make it out, Slayer." Her heart flipped. He was giving back her title. Too bad she couldn't live up to it.

"Do we have a deal or not, Spike? You get my mom out no matter what."

"I said, you're goin' to make it out."

"I don't know, Spike." She shook her head. She couldn't look at him as she spoke. She stared at the house, only seeing her bloody death. "This Kralik guy is mega insane. Giles seemed to think I'd have trouble with him even with my slayer powers. But now….Now I'm just a girl."

She slammed the door as she stalked towards the house. Spike sat frozen behind the wheel. "Kralik, bloody hell. Never thought to see that bloke again." For the first time a frisson of fear streaked down his spine. Maybe he wouldn't be collecting his payment after all.

While she went up the steps to the front door, Spike made his way to the back. He found an unbricked basement window and kicked it out, making sure to grind out the jagged glass teeth with the heavy tread of his boot. Vampiric grace and stealth slid him between the narrow casements with ease. He landed in a noiseless crouch and extended his senses to the upper levels. It was almost like bat radar as he mapped the house, all the empty spaces and the clutter, the largest rooms and the smallest, the scurry of rats and the flutter of an owl in the attic. He easily located a strained human heartbeat on the third level, the furthest room to the east. The staccato of fear told him it was Joyce.

He centered his senses on the second heartbeat he could feel creeping through the lower levels. The rhythm tripped along in a panicked beat that was alluring. It made his gums itch and his fangs ache. All the times he'd fought the Slayer in the past, her heart had never sounded like a jackhammer. Their fights elevated her heartbeat with adrenaline, intensity, and excitement, but never with the fear he heard now. Until their confrontation in the alleyway, she had never once been afraid of him. It was maddening, but it flamed the small tendril of desire curling insidiously through his lower guts and cock. He was the Big Bad; she should be afraid of him, but it made him proud that she wasn't.

And it just brassed him right the fuck off that her pride and strength had been stolen from her.

The two human heartbeats accounted for, he deepened his sweep, delving below the natural world into the supernatural one. Something dark and malevolent twanged along his senses, and he immediately recognized the miasma of a vampire. The creature wasn't as old as him, but it was no fledge. It possessed a master's power, swirling in an uncontrolled torrent that made him even more dangerous.

Spike peered up the darkened stairs leading to the kitchen, knowing Kralik was on the other side of the thin wooden door. If Spike sensed Buffy's entrance into the house, it was a good bet Kralik had as well. The question was, did the insane vampire know Spike was there, too?

He ascended the stairs, making no effort to muffle his steps. His goal wasn't to sneak up on the other vampire, but to distract him. Spike wanted the master to devote his attention completely to him, giving Buffy a chance to sneak her mother out of the house. The door opened easily and the complete darkness Spike was immersed in was flooded by lamplight. Standing not five feet from him was Kralik, naked to the waist and grinning like the madman he was.

"Brother!" Kralik opened his arms wide in welcome. His muscular torso rippled, showcasing a collection of self inflicted scars from his human life. "It's been too long."

"Not nearly." Spike cast a glance around the kitchen, noting exits and weapons in one efficient sweep. "What's it been? Forty years?"

"Cuba," boomed Kralik. "During the missile crisis. It was delicious."

Spike cautiously made his way to the rotted wooden counter. Predictably, Kralik rotated to follow Spike's movement, putting his back to the open doorway leading to the parlor. The Slayer would be able to sneak by unseen, but only if Kralik wasn't focused on her heartbeat.

"You and Dru always liked the taste of repression in the evening."

Kralik's fat, pink tongue slicked his lips as he ran his palm down his naked chest to his crotch. "How is mother? I miss her so." He brutally squeezed his balls through his loose pants and Spike had to hide his wince.

Spike had warned Dru against turning the madman when they toured Czechoslovakia in the fifties. As a human, the man already had dozens of nasty kills under his belt, specializing in the slaughter of young mothers in front of their children. Dru thought his work was beautiful, resonating with Angelus' artistry, but without the panache or control that came with decades of perfecting one's art. Spike had been sickened and concerned. Kralik had a thing for mothers and Dru wanted to be his mum for all eternity.

The two insane creatures should have been ideally suited to each other. Dru got the pain she craved, and Kralik had a canvas that wouldn't die. But the madman derived his pleasure from death, and the longer Dru endured his torture the more insane he became. Spike was finally able to split them apart in the panicked chaos of Cuba during the crisis. He had whisked his dark princess away, leaving the madman to fend for himself. Dru had been despondent for weeks on end at losing her childe, but a tour of China's orphanages had cheered her right up. So many china dolls distracted Dru long enough for her to forget she ever had another childe besides Spike.

"She's eating her way through South America. You know how she likes a little spice in her diet. You came up missing in the eighties. Never heard where you went."

The vamp's eyes rolled into the back of his head. "Been a guest of the Council."

"All this time?" Spike's scarred brow arched. Why the bleedin' hell would the Council hold onto an insane vampire for almost twenty years?

"They promised me their most naughty girl. Someone who didn't listen to her elders. A girl to make my own."

Spike twitched. Understanding crashed upon him. It all made perfect sense: Buffy's strange affliction, her Watcher's involvement, Kralik's presence. He knew about the Cruciamentum, of course. The travail taught Slayers that relying on their innate strength wasn't enough. It was a test of cunning, a reminder that brains were needed to outwit their most challenging opponents. Spike often thought it was preparation for fighting Masters. It took more than supernatural skills to kill a vampire who had more than a couple decades of survival under its belt. It took strategy and fortitude. It took a kind of courage that couldn't be endowed by cosmic empowering.

But this was murder-premeditated and intentional. The Council of Wankers wanted Buffy Summers dead.

The intensity of the anger rolling through his gut stunned him.

"Does she miss me like I miss her?"

A shadow passed behind Kralik and the larger man twitched in response. Spike's hand curled around a rotted spindle holding up an empty cabinet.

"Who?" Spike refocused on the madman.

"Mother, of course. I dream of desecrating her over and over again."

Spike's gut roiled. He remembered Kralik's method of desecration, and how much Dru had enjoyed it.

"She doesn't even remember you, brother. You were nothin' but a passing fancy." Predictably, the taunt worked as the distraction he meant it to. Kralik's insanity was fully engrained before his turning, along with the bouts of dementia he was prone to with the proper provocation. Spike knew all about them, and how to use them to his advantage.

The larger man wailed, his fingers ripping the hair at his temples. "My pills!" he screamed. Kralik cracked open a beige bottle and shook out a white pill, swallowing it down with a gulp of rusty water from the tap.

Behind him, Spike could see Buffy watching with terrified fascination. He jerked his head towards the stairs, and was relieved when she didn't hesitate to dart towards them.

"A mouse scurries, a hawk watches, the cat pounces."

Too late, Spike returned his attention to Kralik. A ham-hock fist slammed into his temple. Black dots danced behind his eyes as he crashed to the floor. By the time he blinked away the stars, he was alone in the kitchen. Above him he could hear the rumble of heavy footsteps and high-pitched screams of terror.

Tbc


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS

Spoilers: _Helpless_

Thank you to everyone who has shown their support with their wonderful reviews. A special thanks to Aknien who let me know that Kralik means rabbit in Czech. How fun!

Also a huge thanks to ObscureBookWyrm who so patiently puts up with me and my little quirks.

**More Than Just a Girl**

Chapter Three

Buffy ran hell-bent, the large, terrifying vampire close on her heels. She could feel the weakness of the rotted boards beneath her feet and she was struck with the hope that they would buckle under the vampire's heavier weight as she raced down the hall. The upstairs was dark, cluttered with broken crates, moldy boxes, and empty liquor bottles from squatters. She was disorientated, petrified, and desperately wanted to find her mommy. She tried to glance into the open rooms as she rushed by, but all she could see were clusters of impenetrable shadows. Kralik was close enough to paint his cold breath across her nape, and the closed door at the end of the hall was an ominous barrier. She delved her hand into her side pocket, her fingers closing around the first weapon she could find. She whirled around, her stance strong as she extended her arm, holding a large, intricately embellished crucifix.

Kralik slid to a stop in front of her, his wide smile revealing yellow, rotted teeth. Buffy could only wonder at how filthy and twisted his fangs would look when he finally vamped. She dug her free hand in her other pocket, searching for a stake, confident the holy relic would hold him at bay. She cried out when he wrapped his thick, sausage fingers around her thin wrist in a vise-like grip and yanked her forward. He pressed the cross to his skin, slathering the relic across his naked chest and down his belly towards his crotch, where his erect penis tented the loose fabric of his pants.

"Just a little lower," he urged. Smoke trailed up from his crackling skin where it blackened at the edges.

She dropped the cross before it reached his waistline, jerking her hand back as if she were the one burned instead of him. Bile choked her, and she had to drag panicked breaths through her mouth to stop herself from sicking up all over the floor.

"You're one sick puppy," she panted, slowly backing away from him.

His large, muscular shoulders rolled as he shrugged. "I know," he replied without guile.

Suddenly he disappeared as he was slammed through a doorway into another room.

"Hello, cutie." Spike smirked. Her palms itched to slap the cocky grin off his face.

"Way to distract him. _Not!"_

He glared at her, his yellow eyes gleaming in the shadows. "Slayer or not, you're still a bitch."

"Jerk," she huffed. She took a deep breath in preparation to really lay into him, but from inside the room there was an angry roar, and her insides turned to jelly.

"Third story." Spike cocked his head towards the stairs. Buffy nodded and rushed past him.

Spike whirled towards his opponent just as a large body rammed into him, shoving him with bone-jarring force into the wall. His ribs cracked under the blow as a wide, muscular shoulder pinned him to the wall.

Buffy whimpered at the loud crash behind her, but she didn't hesitate. Her priority _had _to be her mother, not the evil jerk who was blackmailing her. She raced up the rickety stairs, smirking as Spike's snarky words trailed behind her.

"Well, aren't you a rascally little wabbit?" Spike taunted, thrusting his elbow downwards, grinding it hard into meat and bone. Kralik bellowed and wrapped his arms around Spike's narrow waist, launching the smaller vampire into the ceiling. The crown of Spike's head smacked against a thick beam, sending shocks down his spine, into his toes. He flew into the far wall, slumping bonelessly to the ground. Dazed, he dragged himself off the floor, blinking his glazed eyes rapidly as he squared off with his opponent.

"You're so scrawny, brother. I never understood why Mother chose you. She never really desired you. Not demon enough for her. Too soft. Too _loving._"

Spike's growl was low and deadly. Kralik's words echoed Drusilla's rant only a few weeks prior. He had never been _wicked _enough for her. No matter how many villages he decimated or nuns he fed her, he never could live up to the paragon of evil that was her daddy. Worse was the knowledge that while Drusilla might not want him, she needed him. It tied him to her in a way that was inescapable. Even if he wanted to leave her, he couldn't, because he loved her-would always love her. She needed someone to care for her, to watch out for her. If anything could be learned from Prague it was that Drusilla was too insane to see to her own wellbeing, and Spike was the only one willing to put aside his needs to care for Drusilla's. No one else, not her sire or her other childer, ever did so. How she could have treated him so poorly was bewildering to him. What had he done wrong? Why was she drawn to these _monsters?_

"C'mon then, _brother_. Show me how you're the better demon." Spike danced on his toes, flicking his fingers in a taunt.

Kralik's belly rippled when he laughed. "When I'm done here, and I've licked up all your dust, I'll take my new childe to visit Mother. Their screams will sing me to sleep as they hang in writhing beauty from the crosses I'll construct for them."

A tremor of real fear skittered down Spike's spine, but it wasn't Dru he imagined on Kralik's cross. Buffy's tear-stained face and blackened flesh flashed through his mind.

"Not goin' ta happen, mate."

Spike was the better fighter, but Kralik had size and madness on his side. Spike raised his fists in a defensive stance, ready to block any more heavy-handed blows to the head. He didn't expect the ornate cross to be thrust towards his crotch by the other vampire. Spike leapt back, colliding with the wall, giving Kralik just enough opportunity to slip the holy relic under the hem of Spike's tee and shove it down his pants.

"Bloody hell! You sick fuck!" Spike screamed. He scrambled to yank it out before it burned his most precious appendage right off his body. The crucifix tumbled to the floor as a two-by-four caught him below the ear. The world went black as he hit the ground.

Buffy found her mother in the last room in the east wing. She was bound to a ladder-back chair, a filthy rag thrust between her teeth. Buffy slammed the door shut behind her and jammed another chair under the doorknob, hoping the blockade would give her more time. She rushed to her mother's side, fussing with the knots. Her mother was squirming in her seat, making incomprehensible sounds behind her gag.

"Just chill for a sec, Mom. Let me get this and we'll get out of here."

If it weren't for the pervasive rot throughout the entire house, the vamp would have had her. A floorboard creaked, and Buffy whirled around in time to see a yellow-eyed fledge in bloody tweeds launch itself at her. It was soft, a paunch-bellied, middle-aged man before its turning, but it was heavy as it fell upon her. It snapped its long, dripping fangs and Buffy felt cold spittle fleck her cheeks.

It took all her strength to hold it off, and she didn't dare free a hand to reach for a stake. One wrong move and its fangs would be in her throat. Joyce squealed behind her gag and kicked the creature with her unfettered foot. Her blows were weak, but distracting. The vamp turned its head to growl menacingly and Buffy reached for the stake jabbing her in the hip. The creature spat like an angry cat as it turned to dust.

Buffy blinked, momentarily stunned. She had done it. No super strength, no catlike reflexes, just her. And, well, her mother. But that wasn't anything new. Images of Spike sprawled out on grimy industrial linoleum in the school's cafeteria while Joyce hefted a fire axe overhead flashed through her mind. _Spike. I hope he's okay. Seriously? Where did that thought come from? _She should be doing three cheers at the thought of him being dust. That, of course, would mean facing Kralik on her own. That thought shut her 'dust Spike' cheer squad right the hell up.

Buffy coughed and rose shakily to her feet. Down the hall, she heard the pounding of heavy footsteps. She frantically cast her gaze around the room, looking for something to free her mother. Her eyes landed on a half-full glass of water and inspiration struck.

Buffy had almost finished cutting her mother free with a pair of garden shears she'd found when the door shattered apart under the force of Kralik's full-bodied sprint into the room. Buffy fell back, her stake raised defensively. He paused, his muddy eyes lingering on her breasts and crotch. She had never felt so helpless in her life.

There was a lurch of fear when she realized Spike wasn't barreling in behind him. Was he dead, dust on the floorboards somewhere? Why did the thought make her heart clench?

Kralik's leering gaze turned to her mother. "It's going to be such a delight watching you eat your mother's face off. I have a thing about mothers. I know this about myself."

She swallowed. "Not gonna happen, insane-o guy."

Kralik cocked his head. "How interesting. I can see why my brother desires you. You are very similar."

Kralik almost snared her with a clumsy grab to her arm; she was so stunned by his words. _Spike desires me? _She thought his demand of sex for help was just another way to degrade her-a demeaning show of superiority over her. There was no desire. Only there was. She saw it in the wide-blown pupils of his eyes and his heavy panting when he kissed her in the car.

"But neither of you can stop this, little girl. The Council promised you to _me_. That's why they brought me to you."

Buffy's blood ran cold. She couldn't say who was more of a monster: Kralik or Quentin Travers. She pushed away the rising fury and freefall feeling of betrayal and focused on the threat in front of her. In the kitchen the insane vampire had reacted violently when Spike mentioned Dru. Maybe it would work again.

He lunged at her, but she dodged under his arm, dancing away on her toes. She may not have had the strength, but she still had her training. She lithely evaded his lumbering swings, making use of the small, cluttered room that hampered the larger creature. She ducked behind a pile of crates, kicking them towards his feet. He stumbled, but didn't fall as she hoped.

"Speaking of mothers. I spent some quality time with yours last year. She went on and on about her boys Spike and Angelus, but never once mentioned you. Are you sure you're Dru's? 'Cause I don't think she's yours."

She danced backwards and her heel landed on a discarded beer bottle. She flailed, her arms pin-wheeling as she fell backwards. Kralik leapt forward, and she was able to use her loss of balance to duck away from his swing, but not far enough. His knuckles grazed her nose, and pain exploded through her sinus and under her eyes. She tasted the metallic tang of blood in the back of her throat. Although reflexive tears blinded her, she was moving before she fully hit the floor, scurrying behind a cluster of moldy cardboard boxes.

"You know nothing of Mother," he thundered behind her. "We have a special relationship." He swiped, catching a few fine blonde tendrils of hair in his claws. She somersaulted away, ignoring the prickle of pain as her hair was yanked from her scalp.

"Yeah, special. So special she forgot all about you."

He roared, gripping his head in agony. She rushed him, but he swatted her away like she was nothing more than dandelion fluff. She hit the floor hard, rolling to a stop by the wall with a groan. She watched from the ground as he shook out his pills from a small bottle, placing them on his tongue. She used the wall as support as she dragged herself to her feet. She kept her movements unthreatening as he gulped down the full glass of water he found in the corner of the room. He shuddered a moment longer, before turning his yellowed eyes towards her.

"I'm going to brand crosses onto your-"

He shuddered again, belching smoke. He glanced down, clutching at his stomach until his claws dug bloody furrows in his gut.

"What did you-?"

Buffy smirked. "I'd be punning right now if I was at full Slayer strength."

Spike raced into the room, coming to a full stop at the sight of Kralik squirming on the ground, steam rising from his flesh. Buffy's gaze roamed over Spike, taking in the smear of blood trailing from his scalp to underneath the collar of his duster. He was alive. She didn't care to examine the relief that flooded through her.

Kralik's clawed hand swiped at the edges of Spike's duster, but the vampire quickly sidestepped. "Brother. Help me."

Spike slid a cigarette between his lips and lit it with flourish. "Sorry, mate. I don't help the helpless." His clear blue eyes sought out Buffy. "Only those who can help themselves."

Kralik gave one last agonized scream, then burst into ash. Spike grinned maliciously, his wicked delight stamped on his sharp, angelical features as he cocked his head to trail his gaze slowly down her body. She wasn't sure if he was looking for injuries or perving on her. _Probably both, _she thought with disgust.

He licked his lower lip, his eyes sharpening with predatory intensity, and with horror she realized there was a slow dribble of blood from her nose. She quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand, before he got any ideas about licking her clean. _'Cause, ewww._

His gaze flickered to the pile of dust behind her, then to Kralik. His smirk made her proud in a way that only Giles' compliments usually did.

She found the garden shears and quickly released her mother, who engulfed her in love and the steady babble of questions. Buffy made all the right noises while leading Joyce out of the house. Spike had disappeared, but she knew he wouldn't go far. He undoubtedly wanted to get paid.

He was waiting for them by his car, and she wordlessly slipped into the backseat with her mother, who was shivering with shock. She held the cold woman tightly as Spike drove them home. He parked in the driveway, but made no move to get out of the car.

"Wait here," she told him preemptively. She was grimy, exhausted, and mentally drained, but she knew none of that mattered to the soulless vampire.

An hour later she walked out of the house, wearing her most conservative pair of slacks and a wool turtleneck. Spike didn't glance towards her as he leaned against the driver side door, smoking a cigarette. She ignored him as she silently slid into the passenger seat, where she sat frozen in prim chastity, her knees bolted together, her ankles neatly crossed. He finished his cigarette, every second grating on her nerves, and then flicked it away. She expected him to get behind the wheel, but instead he stalked around the car and wrenched her door open.

Fear bubbled along her nerves when he reached inside, his face an emotionless mask. She tried to struggle as he yanked her from the car, but he was far too strong. She was reminded that despite her conquests this night, she was still just a girl, and he could kill her with a flick of his wrist. She started babbling excuses for her tardiness before she was fully erect.

"Look, my mom was really upset, okay? I had to calm her down and get her some Valium. She wouldn't let me leave her side until she was asleep and then I really needed to take a shower. I thought you'd at least appreciate that. Even if you're a vampire, clean is still clean. Unless you like it dirty."

He smirked, rolling his tongue behind his teeth as he pushed her up against the car.

She crossed her arms beneath her breasts defensively. "You know what I mean, pig."

He didn't answer, just lowered his gaze to the top of her plumped breasts. She dropped her arms quickly and planted her hands on her hips. The new arrangement didn't cool his ardor. If anything it seemed to increase it.

His silence unnerved her. "What are you waiting for? I thought you wanted to do this?" she snapped.

He braced his hands on the low roof of the car, trapping her between his arms. The intensity in his eyes reminded her of how he looked after their kiss. If want were a physical thing, then it would burn to the touch. All the air around her seemed to disappear, leaving her gasping. Eternity expanded in a bubble around them, ending at their fingertips. The world continued on, but they stayed frozen in each other's dominions.

"Don't you want me?" she asked breathlessly. A tendril of honey gold hair shifted across her cheek, and he lifted his hand to wind it around his fingertips.

"I want you more than I've wanted anything in a long time." She gulped audibly at his words, and his fingers slid away from her hair. "But I'm not going to take you now."

Buffy's brows snapped together and the insecurity that had haunted her since Giles stripped her of her powers howled through her soul.

"It's because I'm not the Slayer right now, isn't it? I'm just a helpless little girl. I'm not worth the effort. I'm not special enough."

She tried to slip under his arm to escape to the house, but he slid his fingers through her hair and fisted his hand near her scalp to hold her still. He angled her head up to his, ignoring the stiff set of her jaw.

"You're more than just a girl, Buffy Summers. You're amazing. Tonight you managed to single-handedly take out a larger, stronger, and criminally insane opponent while barely breaking a sweat. You didn't need your slayer strength to do so. All you needed was yourself. The slayer is only an enhancement to what's already there. You're a bloody brilliant fighter, strategist, leader, and downright fantastic woman. I was wrong to call you helpless. You're anything but."

Buffy leaned against the car, a little weak-kneed. Spike was staring at her like she was something between a goddess he wanted to worship at the feet of and a tray of sweets he wanted to devour. Her insecurity dissolved under the flood of his praise. He was absolutely right. She had defeated her enemy that night, and she hadn't needed supernatural aid to do so. If she was just a girl, then she was a helluva one, because not only had she survived, she'd won the fight and saved her mother. You know what? She was friggin' awesome! She was more than a match for either Spike or Angel.

"Then why don't you…?" She glanced away. She had no idea why she was pursuing this. She should just take the out and run for the hills. It wasn't like she actually wanted to have sex with Spike. Did she? She was Angel's girl, wholly and completely. Her body belonged to him, even if he couldn't touch it. Then why was she practically throwing herself at Spike? She had her answer when he skimmed his fingertips along her jaw, angling her face towards his, and shivers of desire cascaded through her body, hardening her nipples beneath her blouse, making her clit quiver. When he touched her, her entire body ignited with desire. It was bad and wrong, and oh so wicked, but she wanted this man like the desert wanted rain.

"Didn't keep up my end of the bargain, did I?" he told her huskily.

"What do you mean?"

"You did all the work. Dusted two vamps without a lick of my help."

Buffy licked her lips, aroused by the way his eyes greedily followed her tongue. "But you did help. You distracted Kralik so I could get by him, and I would have been a goner if you hadn't come along in the hallway."

He shrugged, and the ripple of muscle beneath his tee hypnotized her. "Maybe, but I think you could have gotten away on your own. The point is, I didn't earn a reward, did I?"

She parted her lips to reply. To say what, she wasn't sure, but his thumb skimmed along her lower lip, distracting her. He pushed the pad of his thumb inside her mouth, dragging it along the edge of her teeth before slipping it back out.

"Would love nothing more than to spend the night showing you how to use this pretty little mouth of yours, but I haven't earned the right. Haven't earned you."

Her brows snapped together. "I'm not a thing. I'm not a medal or a golden cup. You can't _earn _me. I'm the one who decides." She pushed him away from her, a little surprised when he let her go.

"And what does it take to get you to decide?" he asked.

She walked towards her porch, refusing to turn around and look at him.

"You already had your chance, and you turned it down, Spike."

"More's the pity. But that wasn't you decidin', was it? That was you givin' yourself up as a prize," he growled.

She spun on her heel, her hands fisted along her thighs. Pride stiffened her spine and raised her chin into the air. "That will never happen again," she spat.

"Good on you," he spat back as he stomped around the front of his car to the driver side. "You're too good to whore yourself out like that." She vibrated with fury, and for a moment she felt in sync with his own intense anger. He wrenched the door open and paused to shoot her a look of longing. "No one should ever control your body but you, Buffy. Not the Council, not your Watcher, and not the poof. Don't let people put a leash on you. You're strong enough to be your own person."

The sound of his door slamming was loud in the darkness of winter's night. Thunder cracked and a deluge of rain dumped itself from the heavens. The shock of the freezing water jolted her out of her paralysis.

She raced down the rain-slicked driveway, her heart loud in her ears. He pulled to a stop, rolling down his window. The cold rain soaked her to the bone, and her hair hung lank and wet around her shoulders. She wrapped her thin fingers over his doorframe and leaned down so their eyes were even.

He was white-knuckling the steering wheel as if it was the only thing anchoring him place, stopping him from flinging himself at her. He stared straight ahead, and a small muscle in his lean cheek jumped.

"Look at me," she commanded softly.

He turned his head; his full lips pressed firmly together, his pupils blown wide, the barest band of blue glittering at the edges.

"You're the only man who's ever looked at me like that." She could feel her heartbeat in her throat, and it felt like she was suffocating under the weight of her laboring heart.

His eyes dropped to her lips before meeting her gaze again. "Like what?" He curled his tongue behind his teeth, and for the first time since meeting him she knew it wasn't a deliberate act of seduction. It was an imitation of the unconscious desire he had to devour her in the most intimate way possible.

"Like you'll die if you can't have me."

His eyes flared, and the creaking of the steering wheel reforming under his supernaturally strong grip was loud in the silence of the cab. Time stretched and neither of them moved, knowing if they did, their control would collapse.

She licked her lips. "I'm tired."

His face shuttered, and he turned away to stare out the windshield at the wet-gray world.

"But I want to make another deal with you." He turned back, his scarred brow cocked. "You pick me up tomorrow at dusk and I promise to stay with you all night as long as you don't bite me."

"Why?"

She swallowed and dropped her eyes to the cracked pavement beneath her feet. Already, rivers of rainwater were streaming down the driveway towards the gutters. Her fingers tightened on the door as she marshaled her courage. Usually when she was afraid, she shoved 'Just Buffy' into the darkest corner of her mind and locked her down like a felon in solitary, but 'Just Buffy' was the one lending her strength now. The girl wanted the man just as much as the Slayer wanted the vampire. She met his eyes, determined and proud.

"I want to experience intensity before I die." She'd almost died tonight. She almost died every night. She had long ago resigned herself to never experiencing certain things. Paris in the spring, the feel of the white satin of her wedding dress under her fingertips, the smell of her baby fresh from the bath. This was one thing she could have before she died. But only if she was brave enough to take it.

He looked away. "You've had that already. As I remember it resulted in some of the worst months of my unlife."

"That was love. Love is powerful, but it isn't intense or primal or…"

"Passionate."

She cut him a scathing look. "Love is about cherishing each other. It isn't about trying to tear each other apart, devouring, and hungry and….driven."

"It should be. Love should be all those things and more."

Her brow crumpled and she pushed herself away from the door, needing to distance herself from him. She had thought he would leap at the chance to spend the night with her, not give her the third degree about her relationship with Angel. Perhaps she'd read the signals wrong. Maybe he didn't want her at all.

"Never mind." She turned on her heel and stomped towards the porch.

The car door creaked; then he was in front of her, his hands wrapped around her upper arms.

"Tomorrow night, as soon as the sun sets. I'll show you intensity, Slayer. I'll teach you about passion. But I won't come for you. If you want it – really want it – then you have to come to me."

She swallowed hard, and she knew he felt the tremor that rocked her body. His fingers tightened, pulling her closer to his chest. His strength engulfed her, and she had to struggle not to close her eyes in pleasure.

"No biting," she commanded.

The grin that stretched across his full lips could only be described as wicked. "There'll be bitin', but not the bad kind. I promise." His dark gaze focused on her lips. "Now, let's seal the deal with a kiss."

He didn't give her a chance to reply, folding her into his arms and fitting her against the hard ridges of his chest. When she tipped her face up to his, she expected a kiss similar to the one they'd shared in the car; a kiss full of suppressed, raging desire and agonizing want. Instead, the tip of his tongue traced the silky edge of her upper lip, sending an eruption of tingles along her jaw and down her spine. She parted her lips, and his agile tongue slipped in at the corner of her mouth to lick the edge of her teeth. Tentatively she touched her tongue to his, unprepared for the jolt of sensation the simple caress evoked.

His palms cupped her cheeks, the tips of his fingers fitting along the edge of her jaw. His thumb caressed her skin, easing over her lower lip and pressing into the corner of her mouth, coaxing it wider for his invasion. She opened herself up to him, inviting him to devour her. He didn't refuse. He pressed the hard line of his body into her soft curves, his hands tilting her head to just the right angle so he could slide his tongue against hers in long, sure strokes that seemed to lick all sense of reason right out of her brain.

Her knees buckled. Never, not once, had her knees ever buckled during a kiss. Not during her first experimental touches with Pike or her fumbling with Owen. Not even during the loving, tender sessions with Angel. She thought it was a myth made up by romance novelists and chick flicks.

He caught her before she hit the ground. She looked up to see him laughing at her with his eyes. She would have said something scathing, but she was too busy trying to catch her breath. He steadied her before stepping away. It felt like he took a piece of her when he did.

His grin was infuriatingly cocky, but his face was softer than she had ever seen before. It was breathtaking.

"Tomorrow. Sunnydale Motel, room seventeen," he promised. "And wear something slutty." He slapped her on the ass. She squeaked in feminine outrage as he sauntered away, his coattails swishing with swagger. She stood frozen, watching long after he had driven away.

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own or profit from BtVS. More's the pity. I would have made sure that Spike had a leather collar to go with that coat.

Thanks ever so to ObscureBookWyrm for all her efforts.

A/N: Just so we're clear. Spike is eeevillll. Murder and mayhem still at the top of his to-do list. It's not like he magically got a soul stuffed up his arse because he spent a few hours in Buffy's delightful company. I mean, she's awesome, but she's not that awesome. He's just trying to work through this abnormal obsession he has with the Slayer any way he can. He tried therapy, but Dru kept eating the therapist. The bloody bitch.

**More Than Just a Girl**

Chapter Four

Spike leapt over the second floor railing and landed cat-pounce silent on the long mahogany table. The spattering of papers littering the slick, polished surface barely whispered their indignation at his intrusion. He stood at the head of the table waiting with predator patience for the man exiting the office opposite him to notice his presence.

Rupert Giles looked up as he closed his office door and gasped as his fine, bone-china teacup fell from his numb fingertips, shattering loudly on the cheap industrial flooring. He scooted back, scrambling with suddenly inept fingers as he tried to wrench open the door to his office, where he kept his weapons. A strong, cold hand around his stopped him dead. William the Bloody crowded into his space, his lethal blue eyes burning holes straight through him.

Giles stilled against the door. The only movement was the slight quivering of his hands and the rapid beating of his heart in his chest. Spike leaned close, trapping the human intimately against the wall. If Giles hadn't known how dangerous his position was, he would have been a very uncomfortable man.

"Ran into your Slayer tonight, mate."

Giles' ruddy features washed white. Dread stabbed him hard in the heart, and he fleetingly wondered if he was too young to have a heart attack.

"No." The word lisped without permission from between his tight lips.

The vampire cocked his head, his eyes piercing. Giles fought the urge to look away. He knew there were some creatures with the ability to scry men's souls. He didn't think William the Bloody was one such being, but there was something so intense about his eyes. It was as if he was stripping away layers upon layers of a person until he found the kernel of darkness that rested inside all men.

"Your slayer's still alive. Tucked away in her beddy-bye, I reckon."

Giles slumped against the door, his exhale of relief loud in the otherwise quiet room. He had to straighten his knees lest he collapse on the ground. He had experienced a lot of anger in his lifetime. Most of it had been during his Ripper years, but his capacity for it had never truly deserted him. When the Council of Watchers ordered him to subject Buffy to the Cruciamentum, he had felt it start to trickle inside him. When he found out that it was Kralik they wanted to pit her against, that anger had birthed itself into full-blown rage. He had done the best he could to protect Buffy from the Council despite the consequences to himself professionally and personally. Being fired was a pittance compared to the fact that Buffy might never forgive or trust him again.

"No thanks to you," Spike drawled nastily.

Giles' head thunked against the door. He exposed his throat, but he didn't care. He deserved a bloody death. He had stolen something precious from Buffy-the ability to protect herself. She could have died. Giles eyed the shameless monster in front of him, and wondered _why _she wasn't dead. There was no way she could have escaped a predator like William the Bloody in her present condition.

"Yes. You're quite right," Giles stuttered softly. "I'm the worst kind of bastard." He squeezed his eyes shut, rolling his head to the side. "She trusted me and I betrayed her."

Spike eased away. The vampire still had him trapped, but he wasn't so contentiously in his space either.

"Yeah, you did. Don't think the girl's goin' be forgivin' you anytime soon."

"No. I rather think not." Giles swallowed, and dared to glance at the vampire from the corner of his eye. "You and she?"

Spike stepped back, his hands sliding away from the wall. Giles was wise enough to remain where he was. The vampire tucked a cigarette between his lips and lit it with a flourish of his Zippo. The librarian had to bite his lip to keep from snapping out his 'no smoking' rule.

"That's some girl you have, Watcher. Managed to outsmart me, and dust herself a right loon of a vamp that even I did my best to avoid for the last fifty years."

Giles started. "Kralik is dead? Why would she go after him? I told her how dangerous he was."

"He got his paws on Joyce." Spike exhaled a stream of blue smoke into Giles' face. "You know how he felt about mums, don't you?" he said slyly.

Giles looked a little green around the edges. "Yes," he bit out between tight lips. He rubbed his fingers across his brow. Kralik was a monster, a creature far worse than the one that stood before him. Spike was a killer, but he was amazingly efficient at it. He wasn't one to _play, _as it were. Kralik, on the other hand, had been something truly obscene.

"And you know the Slayer. It's family, friends, and the world in that order. She always lets herself fall dead dog last, doesn't she?"

Giles nodded absently. "Yes. Regardless of her level of capacity, she is incapable of allowing an innocent to be harmed."

"So tell me, Watcher." Spike threw his cigarette to the floor and ground it out with a slow twist of his heavy boot. "Why'd you do it? She get a little too mouthy for you? A little too frisky at the reins? Or was it Angelus that finally did you in? Couldn't handle your girl being with a vamp?"

Giles flew at him in an angry frenzy. Spike was so startled at the action that he allowed himself to be shoved back a few feet. When the normally soft-spoken librarian went to strike him a second time, Spike grasped him under the elbow and, none too gently, tossed him backwards. The office door shuddered under the man's full weight when he collided with the thin wooden frame.

Spike took a menacing step forward, but the Watcher didn't cower. The master vampire felt a modicum of respect at that. A small smile curled the corner of his lips. It did nothing to lighten the angular harshness of his features.

"Don't make me ask you again, Watcher."

"I never-." Giles sputtered in righteous anger. Realizing he was dangerously close to losing his control, he inhaled deeply through his nose. Once he felt he had his anger locked away, he straightened his tweed vest and squared his shoulders.

"The Cruciamentum is a ritual designed to give the Slayer confidence in herself. It teaches her to use her mind as a weapon and not to rely on her innate strength. Personally, I have never agreed with the moratorium of keeping the ritual secret from the Slayers. I believe they should be fully aware and prepared, but as a Watcher I have no say in such things. However, when I found out exactly who the Council wanted to set my Slayer up against, I refused to participate and informed Buffy immediately. She was never to face that monster. Certainly not while weak. I would never do that to her."

"Do what? Murder her?" Spike asked silkily. Giles swallowed hard but didn't respond. "'Cause that's what's goin' on here. You realize that, don't you, Watcher?

Giles took off his glasses. He intended to give them a good polish; instead he found himself staring sightlessly down at them.

"I admit, when I was informed of Buffy's opponent I knew something was amiss. But to suggest murder-"

Spike looped his thumbs in his belt and rocked on his heels. "I had myself a nice chin-wag with Kralik. Us being family and all."

Giles gave a small snort. "And when did _you _speak with Kralik? When you and he were trying to kill my Slayer?"

Spike closed in on Giles, poking him hard in the chest. "I had nothin' to do with that atrocity tonight. That's all on you, old man."

"Yes. Quite." Giles looked away, his guilt preventing him from staring down the other man.

"I was there helpin' the daft chit."

Wild horses stampeding through the library couldn't have stunned the Watcher more. "I beg your pardon?"

Spike grinned, his eyeteeth unnaturally long. "She's as daft as they come. Two fries short of a Happy Meal. She's got more loons than toons," he drawled, intentionally obtuse.

Giles gritted his teeth. There had never been a more obnoxious vampire than William the Bloody. "What do you mean, helping her?"

"Need a dictionary, do you? Goes to show how inferior a Cambridge education is."

Giles' empty hand curled into a fist, his arms long and taut along his sides. Spike smirked and folded his arms across his chest in a silent dare for the human to attack him. The Watcher looked away, frustrated.

"Look, the how and the why isn't important. I was there and while the Slayer was rescuing her mum, I was having myself a nice long chat with my not-so-dear brother. He told me that the Council has been keeping him caged up for the last twenty years – the whole time promising he'd get himself a naughty girl who didn't listen to her elders."

Giles stared at him. For a moment, he thought the old man hadn't heard him, but a small, metallic _ting_ echoed in the silence. Spike glanced down and saw the arm of the Watcher's eyeglasses snapped in half.

"They set her up," he whispered. "They intended to rid themselves of her."

"Bloody foolish if you ask me. Slayer line doesn't run through her anymore, does it?"

Giles shot him a sharp look. "How do you know that?"

"Demon grapevine. Hear tell there's a new slayer. A wild, dangerous one. If one's to be snuffed, my money woulda been on her."

Giles pushed himself off the door, and brushed past Spike. He tossed his ruined glasses on the table before leaning against it, straight-armed, his head hung in shame.

"Who's to say they aren't plotting against her as well?" Giles was silent for a long moment before turning around to face Spike. "I just don't understand why they would do this. Buffy is an excellent slayer. Yes, she's a little headstrong. She's prone to outlandish behavior, and her dating choices…But her slaying…I mean she's a little unorthodox, but she gets the job done."

"Does she?" Spike asked in a low, dangerous tone.

Giles shot him a startled look. "What do you mean?"

"How does the Council feel about her continuing to date a vampire who, only a few months ago, was trying to end the world? How do they feel about her cutting a deal giving two dangerous vamps a free pass? Slayer's supposed to work in secret. How do they feel about her having friends and family? Having people who influence her who aren't Council approved?"

"Why should it matter?" Giles exploded. "She saves the world. And does it well, I might add."

"That she does, Watcher. But it seems the Council of Wankers don't see it that way. They want our Slayer dead, and they'll see it through, one way or another."

If the Watcher heard the possessiveness of the vampire, he didn't acknowledge it. The human stared into the distance, his face pinched and eyes dark. If the Council of Watchers wanted Buffy dead, there was nothing he could do about it. They possessed resources he could never defend against. He could scream and protest and give the Council what for, but in the end it would all be meaningless gestures. His Slayer was going to die, and he couldn't save her. Giles cast a sly look at the vampire.

"Why are you here, Spike?"

"Well, now we're getting to it." Spike walked towards the man on silent feet, crowding him against the table. Giles swallowed, but refused to drop his eyes. The vampire leered and dropped something heavy on the mahogany table.

"I just wanted to look into the eyes of man capable of killin' off his girl like she was nothin' more than a calf to slaughter."

Giles was incapable of not looking at the object Spike had dropped. An old, rusted railroad spike lay obscenely on the highly polished wood. He inhaled deeply, but didn't try to flee. He raised his chin a notch and stared down the vampire who intended on painting his precious books red with blood.

"'Course, you tell me what I want to know and I might let you go."

Giles' lips pursed. "It's unlikely I'll tell you anything, vampire."

Spike looked contemplative. "Dunno 'bout that. You just might want to tell me."

"Tell you what?" Giles spat. He highly doubted that he'd ever _want _to tell the obscene creature anything of import.

The vampire stared at him long and hard. It was only through years of meditative training that Giles didn't fidget under his gaze.

"I want the hangar and departure time of the Council of Wankers' private jet."

Giles fumbled. "What?"

"You heard me, mate. I know they're here. Watchin' and waitin' to see if their little execution went off without a hitch. Now that they've been foiled, they'll scurry back to Merry Ole to reconvene before they put the screws to her again. I want to know when and where."

It was Giles' turn to stare long and hard. It wasn't hard to imagine what a vampire with William the Bloody's reputation would want with such information. However, outright asking would make Giles an accessory. It would make him culpable. But if he had even an inkling, didn't that make him just as culpable? More importantly, did he care?

"It won't change anything. The Council is a bloody hydra. You cut off one head and another emerges."

"Maybe. Or maybe if you cut off enough heads, you'll finally find one that has a lick of sense in it."

Giles frowned. "This is a ridiculous conversation, and I will not participate in it."

Spike leaned closer to whisper intimately in the man's ear. "Angelus told me about Ripper. About how you used to have a set of wrinklies that would do any demon proud. But mostly he told me how vicious you are when it comes to protectin' your own. Tell me, Watcher. What will you do when they come for her? Will you wring your hands and chant 'dear Lord' as they send her off to be split open from groin to gullet by some undefeatable monster, or will you sac up and be the man even Angelus feared?"

Giles' skin was slick with cold sweat and his balls were clenched up tight in the hollow cavern of his body. The vampire was angling closer to his jugular with every predatory advance of his body, and all the cells in Giles' body vibrated with the nearly incontrollable instinct to flee. Instead, he turned his head so his breath was hot on the vampire's cheek. This wasn't intimacy. This was death.

"I could give a bloody fuck what that bastard thinks of me. If it wasn't for my Slayer I would have sent him screaming back to hell the moment he resurrected."

Spike grinned, but all Giles saw was the whiteness of his teeth. "That would be somethin' worth seeing, Watcher, but not really why we're here. You'd do anythin' for your Slayer. Do this, and let me do the rest. She'll be safe as houses by the time I'm through."

"Why?"

The men drew apart, and Giles took a shaky breath. Spike refused to look at the other man, but Giles couldn't seem to look away from the vampire. He wanted to know why William the Bloody suddenly had a bug up his arse about the Slayer and the Council of Watchers.

"Does a vamp need a reason for a spot of violence?"

"Normally, I'd say no. But you…" Giles' eyes widened. The chronicles on Spike were sparse, but the information was specific. He did nothing without a reason. He hunted Slayers because he wanted the challenge and the fame that came with winning. His only other notable bouts of violence usually revolved around Drusilla in some way. Spike hadn't started the mob in Prague – that had been his paramour's doing – but he'd certainly ended it with horrifying ruthlessness. Perhaps it wasn't the Slayer and the Council that Spike was interested in after all, but the girl herself.

"Don't get your tweed knickers in a twist, imagin' somethin' that's not." The vampire spun the heavy spike still sitting on the table. It rumbled loudly over the polished surface. "You've read up on me, I suppose?"

"Yes," Giles replied cautiously.

"Know how I came about my name?"

"You drove railroad spikes through your victims."

Spike snatched up the iron weapon with vampiric speed and drove it into the table. The wood splintered white beneath the hardwood polish as the vampire dragged the spike towards the end of the table, digging a wide trench in the mahogany.

"Did your diaries note that all those victims knew each other? That they ran in the same circles in the Ton?"

"I believe it was noted, but considered coincidental," Giles mused, carefully watching the weapon the vampire was known to use with malicious ruthlessness.

The vampire dropped the spike and straight-armed the table, turning his head to look at the Watcher. "Now, I'm a-goin' ta tell you a secret that's not to go into your buggerin' diaries." The vampire's eyes glittered with deadly seriousness and Giles nodded solemnly.

"I knew those men in my human life. Every single one of them. They were elitist bullies. They thought nothin' of pickin' on those weaker than them, and using people as tools for their own benefit."

Spike straightened, and fished out a small square of paper from his pocket. "I don't like bullies. That's all the Council of Wankers are. Bullies. They think they own Buffy. That she's theirs, mind, body and soul. They think nothin' of killin' her, 'cause she's nothin' more than a thing to them. A tool for their own benefit." He handed the paper to Giles. "Call me before they escape. Don't let Buffy die because some pansy-arsed tweed coat beat the Ripper out of you twenty years ago. You and I both know that right and wrong isn't always black and white."

Giles' hand didn't shake a bit when he took the square of paper from the murderous master vampire.

tbc


End file.
